


Vespers

by paperfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:16:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/pseuds/paperfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Lucifer sang to Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vespers

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: mental instability, abuse (John Winchester style, for future chapters), isolation, loneliness, pining, angst

Chapter 1

You hear his name as a trickle of light from the clawing darkness of your cage. A labyrinth of time, of festering memories, a twisting road of lost possibilities. In it seconds warp into years and years fold into millennia. In the dark you grasp at the memory of the sun on your wings, the echo of your brothers’ voices raised in song and lost to silence. Again and again you relive Michael’s cold judgment, Gabriel’s grief, the set of your Father’s shoulders as he turns away from you. Grief, rage, desperation, love – in the dark they all blur into one another until you’ve almost forgotten that once, there was light. Once, there was the birth of a new universe and the way the sun ignited underneath your fingertips. Once Michael’s wingtips brushed against yours while Gabriel played with your younger brothers among the new clouds. Once, there was the glory of your brother’s voices, raised to honor the Highest. Once, you had a family.

 It’s millennia before you stop throwing yourself at the walls of your prison, desperately searching for a way out. It’s eons before you stop screaming to fill the silence. You scream until you’re drained, until you have no more energy to burn away the darkness pressing around you.

But even the Cage’s silence is not enough to stifle the low chant of the demons, your so-called children. Their voices grate and rasp against your being, and when you hear them calling you Father, at last you break. You shriek, maddened laughter bubbling up loud enough to shake the firmament itself, your echoes reverberating in the prison’s stifling confines. You laugh until you’re choking on your own poisoned grace, until the pain of it leaves your voice nothing but a raw rasp. But still the echoes carry on, and it isn’t long before you’re half-deaf as well as blinded by the suffocating dark.

You don’t remember much else after that. You cannot recall how many millennia you spend in this miasma of rage and despair. But you will always remember what breaks you out of it.

Eons after your fall, a strange sound makes it way to your prison. Unfamiliar and soft but steadily rising in volume, emanating from a small light in the far distance. Hesitantly you lift yourself from the loose sprawl you’ve been curled in. Too numb for either fear and rage, dully wondering whether this is another of the Cage’s tricks. But before you can stretch your stiff wings to fly towards it, it erupts, drowning your prison in pure brightness.

You cry out in pain and shock. After so long in the dark the light  _burns_ everywhere. But as soon as the pain starts searing you it stops. And when the light fades, you’re somewhere unfamiliar.

You blink once, twice, in bewildered consternation. The very strangeness of your surroundings makes your head spin. You’re in an enclosed space much smaller than the halls of Heaven, built to keep the rest of the world out. A point far into the future, that much is certain. Here, the world feels old and worn thin, filled with unfamiliar constructs that bite deep and seep poison into the very earth.  Even the night air tastes foul. But there’s starlight, half-obscured by clouds, and wind ruffling the leaves of old trees. The soft silver of the moon’s half-smile stains everything it touches, and it’s so beautiful that for a few moments you can do nothing but stare. Until you hear the sound again.

The sound – a soft wail, you finally recognize - is quiet, but you can still detect the rising notes of urgency in it. Disoriented, confused, and more than a little overwhelmed, you drift towards its source. A nest of wood and soft white material. What you see inside it makes disgust rise up in your gorge.

A baby. A small, squirming, underdeveloped  _human_. It’s kicking around, as if doing its damnedest to extricate itself from the air. Its cheeks red and blotchy, liquid seeping from its large eyes. It has its mouth open, and you can see its distress illumined clearly on its little face. Pure, poisonous rage fills your very being at the sight of the little thing, fury like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You reach down, aching to tear it to shreds, to feel its blood dripping down your hands. Harsh and metallic and reeking of justice -

 Unbidden, a memory resurfaces. The dawn of the world, when things had been so  _new_ and so _young_ , the fragile beauty of growth making your heart ache, knowing this possibly couldn’t last. The sky curving above you, flooded with light and such a bright, fierce blue that even you couldn’t look at it for too long. And wasn’t it strange that on the other side of this strange barrier of air, wrapped around the world and keeping it safe, lay home –

The baby’s eyes are the exact same shade of that new sky.

It’s this memory that keeps you from trying to snap its neck. This is another of Father’s traps, you know it. Just another illusion, just another torment. But you can’t help it. Trapped so long in a place of death, you cannot help craving life, feeling it breathe against you. Hesitantly, you reach down and lift the child up. Hating yourself (and it) all the while.

The child is a bundle of skin and cloth, just a small, soft weight, slightly damp from all the tears it’s shed. It’s still sobbing, but the sound trails off, fades as you continue holding it.

Another memory flashes through you. Gabriel as a fledgling, with all his feathers mussed. Too tired to fly by himself, so you had to carry him as you soared home. And the irony of it burns and bites worse than the bleak heart of Hell, but strangely enough the fire of it ebbs away the more you hold on to the child. You cradle it close against you, inhaling its soft milky scent, relishing the life beating in something so small, even rocking it a little to relieve it of its distress. Fiercely shoving away the thought of how ironic it is, that this of all things should be the one to give you comfort.

The child still hasn’t stopped crying. Almost absently, you begin to hum. Something soft and ancient and soothing. Your voice is raspy and cracked, but the child stills in your arms, and its tears stop falling.

The infant gurgles, the small mouth widening into an expression that you vaguely remember as joy. It waves its limbs at you as you stare blankly at it. And maybe it’s the fact that it’s been millennia since you’ve touched another living being, but you find yourself holding the infant even closer against you. Clutching onto the little bundle of warmth with something not unlike desperation. Unbound by flesh you can feel the child’s soul rather than its body. And for some strange reason it –  _he_  – you correct yourself – feels so much like a part of you.

Like he’d been made for you.

As realization crashes into you the room dissolves back into the dark, the child with it until you’re grasping only empty space.

The agony of the sudden separation feels almost as painful as falling. You scream, and Hell shakes with the power of it. Outside the demons are flinging themselves to the ground in fear, redoubling the intensity of their prayers. Azazel looks up in interest. Lilith wakes. 

You pay them no mind. There’s the barest whisper fluttering in the Cage, neither demonic nor blasphemous, and you cling to it as it fades.

_Sam Winchester._

“Sam,” An infinitely precious syllable in the empty silence of your prison. For the first time in millennia, something like hope rises in your heart. You throw your head back, laughter bubbling from your throat full of feral, savage joy.

_The name of my vessel is Sam Winchester._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review! Concrit is very much appreciated!


End file.
